


what spring does with the cherry trees

by bottledbliss



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Happy Sex, Smut, can't get more domestic than that, kastlesmutweek, ksw: silky sunday, the barest mimimum of plots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 20:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20297578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bottledbliss/pseuds/bottledbliss
Summary: Karen comes home in a mood and Frank can't think of a reason why he shouldn't give her what she wants.





	what spring does with the cherry trees

**Author's Note:**

> I am not a smut writer. I repeat, I AM NOT A SMUT WRITER. I just saw the kastlesmutweek bandwagon and jumped on. This is only my second attempt at smut, so go easy on me! (And did I also choose to defile one of Neruda’s beautiful poems for my title? Yes. Yes, I did. I have no shame.)

At first glance, there’s nothing wrong with Karen when he lets her in, after having listened to her fumbling with her keys outside the door for three whole minutes. She crashes into him, buries her face in his chest and takes a long deep breath. “Fancy meeting you here,” she says and after that, she starts giggling uncontrollably.

For the briefest moment, he feels extremely awkward, gets ready to apologize, say he’s going to leave, but then he remembers. “I live here.”

“I know.” She pats him on the shoulder as she moves past him, drops her bag and begins to take off her coat. “That’s why what I said was funny,” she drawls, coat hanging from one arm because she forgot what she was doing about halfway to the living room. Frank moves to help her with it. Her perfume is doing a poor job of masking the smell of alcohol on her clothes. “Hi,” she beams at him, draping an arm over his shoulder when his hand goes around her back and releases her from the sleeve.

“Hey.” He kisses the side of her neck and turns away to hang her coat on a chair. Her arms are wrapped around his waist and creeping up to his chest before he’s finished the task. “Had fun with the guys?” he asks, stroking her forearm.

Karen hums between his shoulder blades. “Now I’m going to have fun with you.” A kiss on the back of his neck. “And before you say anything,” her nails press into his pec, “I’m not drunk. Just… tipsy.”

That’s very generous to say of someone who needed help getting out of their quite loose outerwear. “Sure, let’s call it that,” he snickers and spins around to face her.

She takes him by surprise, her lips covering his, soft and warm, and he sighs into her mouth and she sings a purr into his. She’s slow, gentle. Loving. He tastes her lipstick, the whiskey on her tongue. She’s been drinking the good stuff, he can tell and he starts feeling like he might be drunk too.

She doesn’t pull back before nipping his bottom lip and he wraps his arm around her, to keep her close and keep himself from falling. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters as her kisses trickle down to the hollow of his throat. He’d heard somewhere that would change, the want, the hunger coiling in the pit of his being. Given time. It hasn’t changed. His skin tingles with it whenever she touches him.

“I thought about you all the way home,” Karen whines. “Got all worked up. You can’t say no to me.”

“I can.” He pushes hair back from her face and runs his forefinger over the offended curve of her mouth, adding “Haven’t finished putting away the dishes yet.”

“Oh, yes. Tell me more about the dishes.” Her teeth graze the tender skin of his neck. “Did you clean the countertops too?”

“Don’t I always?”

“So sexy.”

“A clean home is a happy home, Karen,” he grins.

“But a happy wife means a happy life,” she says, her breath heavy in his ear, and with a little snort, he relents.

“True.”

Frank reaches under her blouse, his hands pressed flat against her back, trapping her to him, her breasts flush against his chest as she clings to him even tighter. Then his mouth finds hers again, sending a ripple through her body, as he strokes from the curve of her spine down to her ass. She feels him getting hard against her thigh and smirks into their kiss.

“Bed,” she urges and they move towards the bedroom together. Even if takes them double the time to reach their destination, they never break touch— his hand up her arm, on her shoulder, her lips on his palm, his thumb brushing her cheek, smiling to themselves, to each other. Smiling like they don’t know how to stop.

They have to pull apart once they’re there though and Karen goes first, pulling her blouse over her head, wriggling out of her skirt. The heels come off last. Frank closes the door behind him and, as fast as he is, he has only removed his shirt by the time she’s dressed just in the pale blue lace of her underwear. “Jesus Christ...” He rubs his jaw to makes sure it isn’t hanging open. He has never required the assistance of lingerie to be turned on, but this… This does something to him. He could fall to his knees, crawl to her. She’s peeling herself for him and somehow, he’s the vulnerable one.

“I’m going to hear that a lot tonight, huh?” She licks her lips and reaches for his waist, hooking a finger in his belt loop. Her eyes hold his as she pulls him closer. Closer.

Putting one hand on each side of her face, he takes her mouth while she pops the button of his pants, draws the zipper down. He’s neither slow nor tender and sometimes it bothers him that he can’t match her softness, but there’s a lot of love in the way he kisses her too. Too much love, if that’s possible. He almost tells her, before she slides her hand through the elastic waistband into the limited space of his briefs, her cool palm cutting his breath short. His pelvis thrusts forward on its own as her fingers curl around him. “Karen,” he stares at her, dark eyes unfocused and she flashes him a teasing grin.

“Say no to me now, I dare you,” she purrs as her hand smoothes along the length of his cock without rushing, a few languid strokes to savor the thickness and the heat of him, as if she’s not burning up with the need to feel him inside her, as if she wouldn’t have jumped him the second she walked in through the door if she could.

Frank’s chest rumbles with a quiet laugh, with a low growl. With impatience. He takes her hand out of his underwear, steadying her with an arm as he slips his own hand between her legs, tugging the thin lace to one side. Karen rolls her hips when one, then two fingers curve inside her and his eyes soften into a gaze almost of awe. “Goddamn,” he rasps. “You weren’t kidding.”

She shakes her head and holds onto him for stability, presses a hot cheek to his shoulder. Between the first gasp that escapes her lips and the low whimpers that follow each sharp movement of his fingers, she only manages to utter the first letter of his name, which isn’t quite enough. She tries again and again, but it’s like he’s determined not to let her, coaxing all sorts of sounds from her except the one that stings her throat by going unspoken.

“Fuck? Is that what you’re trying to say?” he teases.

Karen squeezes her thighs together. Even though he can’t do much like this, it doesn’t stop him from stubbornly wiggling his fingers, until she tears herself away from him.

“Frank,” she sighs, placing a long kiss on his bare chest. “I was trying to say ‘Frank’.”

He leans in, offers a track of kisses across her clavicle as atonement, helps her shed what little is left covering her body and she returns the favor. They undress each other with the practiced ease of synchronized swimmers, curling and folding into one another, floating to bed as if carried by water.

Karen settles herself on the comforter, her hair a golden crown on the pillows and Frank lowers himself on top of her, pinning her to the mattress while his tongue flicks across her skin, from her breasts and down the flat of her stomach, towards her belly. Normally, she wouldn’t dream of stopping him—the man can work miracles with his tongue. But she does stop him, fingers curling at the nape of his neck, her tone full of urgency when she says “Now”. Frank looks mildly disappointed but still nods eagerly, his patience weakened even more with her permission. He glances at the nightstand and reaches for the top drawer. “You’re seriously going to waste time grabbing a condom? You see me take my pill every day,” she complains. “I said now.”

“Feel like trying our luck?” His chuckle turns as dark as his eyes when he spreads her legs with his knee, fitting between them to grind against her.

One long leg wrapping around his ass, she nudges him forward. “You up for it?”

He slides into her, having to brace himself on his forearm for a few seconds as she clenches around him. “Fuck,” he breathes in through his teeth, making a strange choking sound. The deep long thrusts into her body are the sweetest form of torture, eclipsed perhaps only by the slick drag out. “Yeah,” he tells her as soon as he’s resumed control of his voice. “Yeah, I’m up for it.”

“Good,” Karen moans and he’s not sure if she’s approving of what he just said or of the rhythm they’re building, but he doesn’t mind. As long as she feels good, as long as he can make her feel good, nothing else matters. “I did promise Foggy to name a boy after him,” she giggles then.

Half-entertained by the thought, half-terrified by the possibility, he replies with a short laugh of his own. “Are you serious right now?” following his question with a sharp thrust that makes her gasp.

She looks at him with clear eyes, fully there, focused and surrendered. “I could be.”

“That ain’t happening,” he tries to keep the smile off his face as she rocks under him.

“What?” Her fingers thread into his hair, pulling him closer. “The boy?”

“No,” he growls, pressing kisses across her jaw. “The Foggy.”

There’s a moment of silence and then Karen starts laughing, loud, unrestrained and terribly infectious. “Shhh shhh,” Frank’s palm hovers over her mouth and because that has precisely zero effect, he puts his lips to hers instead, drinking in the sound. Soon, her laughter comes out in quiet hiccups and her hips begin rolling again. Maybe it’s the added vibration that does it, or maybe it’s just Karen, gorgeous, amazing Karen with her chest shuddering against his, that makes him harder than before. Her laughter-glazed moan is proof that she feels it too.

“Think about it though,” she tells him, shoulders shaking.

“It’s bad enough that we call Foggy ‘Foggy’,” he huffs and Karen presses her lips together to muffle another fit of giggles and God, she’s so beautiful he forgets to breathe. “Stop that,” he says, because she’s making more laughter climb out of him.

“You stop,” she mutters and immediately, arching up to him, breathless, panting, desperate, “Don’t stop!”

“Jesus Christ,” he says for the third time that night, cupping her breast in his hand, a nipple pinched between his knuckles. With her head thrown back, she bites her lip to stifle any more sounds. “Hey, no,” his hand flies from her breast to her face, pulling her chin down so their eyes lock together. “Look at me, that’s it,” his lips curl into a smile. 

The pace is enough to drive her crazy, not enough to take that thirst out of her, even as he brings her closer and closer to the edge. She rises on her elbow, changing the angle so his pubic bone is pressing against her clit. She’s laughing at herself now, at the fire of her greed reflected in his eyes. “Frank,” she gasps, wiping thick beads of sweat from his forehead, hoping he knows— there’s nothing funny about the way he’s touching her, moving inside her. It’s just funny that she keeps finding heaven in the place where their bodies are joined.

“Yeah, you laugh, baby.” There’s a snarl on his tongue when he kisses her, wet and hard. “You laugh all you want.” 

The wave that’s been building inside her reaches its peak and she loops an arm around Frank’s neck, the only way to keep from sinking as she comes crashing down. She tries calling out his name again but this time, it doesn’t hurt as it catches in her throat. Nothing could hurt now. Her muscles clamp tightly around him, restricting his movement, but it still feels so good, the haze in her eyes beckoning to him, she feels good, making her feel like this makes his heart pound and his spine crack and— “Karen…” his mind goes completely blank for one, two, three breaths and he falls on her, muttering an apology for his crumbling weight as he starts shivering. She holds him close, wraps him up in her warmth and everything is soft and peaceful for a while.

Karen rests a satisfied kiss on the tip of his chin and sits up. “Want to join me for a shower?”

“Can’t,” he kisses her back before getting up to gather their clothes from the floor. “It’s almost 3:00,” he informs her as he pulls on a pair of sweats over his damp skin.

“Shit!” She jumps out of bed like somebody has just set her on fire. “I’ll have to be very quick then,” she mumbles, grabbing fresh clothes at random from the dresser and running towards the bathroom.

“Hey, relax,” Frank stalls her with a hand on her arm. “Take all the time you need. I got this.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, still in a teasing mood. Of course he’s got this. He’s the best at it, and the reason why he’s lifting a smug eyebrow in her direction is that he knows he’s the best at it.

All the exertion of their previous activity has left Karen completely sober, but she feels a bit light-headed as she watches him move about the room, sweat still glistening on his chest, before he puts on a hoodie that he wouldn’t be wearing if he didn’t want to shield the kid from his scars.

“Daaad!” Like clockwork, the wail-like sound drifts from the far end of the apartment into their bedroom, through the closed door. They can’t help but chuckle at its punctuality. It can be annoying at times, but there will come a point in their life when they will think back on sleeping with a child between them with a pang of nostalgia.

Karen suddenly remembers with panic “Frank, the comforter!”

“I’ll take care of everything. Go,” he nods and then he opens the bedroom door a crack, responding to the call in his most tender voice. “Be right there, sweetheart.”

Forgetting about her lingering nudity, Karen glides over to him, laying her arm over his shoulders, and presses her temple to his. They can afford to devote a few more moments to touching, like this, before their nightly ritual begins. “Hey,” she says as he sways her gently in his arms. That’s heaven too, right there, the corner of his lip lifting so high that it almost touches hers.

“Hi,” Frank says with the minutest whisper of a voice.

Even though he will never be as soft as she is, she makes him feel like he’s melting and, well, isn’t that pretty much the same?


End file.
